


ends with trouble (starts with a grin)

by rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Sparring and Sex, it's just about carol getting head and prospering so if that interests you come join me in hell, look...i know this is a garbage ship but sometimes in this life you're just horny and things happen, mostly canon compliant but i do what i can to mitigate the weird power dynamics as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars/pseuds/rescuemechinboyandshowmethestars
Summary: “Didn’t I say you'd have to ask me nicely if you want something?”Carol’s not so much of an ass that she'll roll her eyes at him right now, but it's a near thing. She saunters closer to him, leans in and puts a hand on the shining skin that’s exposed by his tight training gear. “Commander,” she murmurs, and she doesn't have to hear the hitch in his breath; she can feel it under her palm, can feel the way his heart thuds against his chest like it wants to beat its way out and into her hand. “Won’t you please take me back to your room?”“All you ever have to do is ask, Vers,” he says quietly, his breath stirring the hair by her ear. "Let's go."also known as the one in which carol and yon-rogg have athletic sex because why not?





	ends with trouble (starts with a grin)

**Author's Note:**

> HERE'S MY DISCLAIMER: i understand this is a garbage ship and not exactly healthy and a myriad of other terrible things. HOWEVER im sexually attracted to jude law so let's just all roll with it for now? i try to be canon compliant for the beginning of this movie before carol goes off hala but mostly this is sex and nothing else so it doesn't matter much. this fic is a gift to my partner in everything, V, who is endlessly encouraging of me and my endeavors regardless of the shape they take. love you long time. okay, go have fun, i'll meet you at the bottom!

“Can’t sleep?” says Yon-Rogg, and Carol shakes her head.

“Looks like you can't either,” she says.

Yon-Rogg gives her a look so dry it could turn the flood plains of planet A-78 into dust. “I have better things to do than sit around waiting for you to knock, you know.”

“From where I’m standing,” Carol says, eyeing him lazily. “It doesn’t seem like you do.”

He just looks at her, calm, cool. Emotionless. Something she can’t seem to master. “Do you want help requisitioning sleeping tabs?”

She crosses her arms and shakes her head. He keeps looking at her, impassive. Finally, he leans down and puts his mouth right next to her ear, breath hot against her skin. “If you want something from me, Vers, you’ll have to ask nicely.”

“How nicely?”

“What is it the Terrans say? With sugar on top.”

Carol laughs in spite of herself. “And a cherry, too?”

“It couldn't hurt.”

He leans back against the doorframe, loose and indolent and still soft-edged from sleep. Like this, it’s easy to imagine that he isn’t dangerous at all.

“Pretty please, Commander Yon-Rogg, sir, would you spar with a poor, lowly plebeian for just a moment of your infinitely valuable time?”

Yon-Rogg rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Carol agrees. “Can we go?”

“Fine,” he says, and shuts the door, presumably to go change.

She can’t help grinning. He never says no; it’s telling, to say the least.

When he emerges from his room in training gear with a water bottle in hand, he looks vaguely contemplative. “You know,” he says. “I don’t mind it so much when you call me ‘sir’.”

“Oh, I bet you don’t,” Carol says, ignoring his shit-eating grin in favor of leading the way to the elevator. “Better savor the memory, because it’s never happening again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

_ /// _

Five minutes later they’re in the training room, and he’s circling her like a cat with its prey, wearing an entitled smirk that indicates her resistance is as charming as it is futile.

She should really be immune to it when he looks at her like that. It’s a little disappointing that she isn’t.

“You look a little tired,” says Yon-Rogg. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to bed?”

Carol kicks him in the stomach so hard he wheezes and scrambles back out of reach again. “Stop asking me if I’m _ sure _.”

He looks at her approvingly. “I’m being polite. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

“Not in my vocabulary,” Carol says, and ducks to the right when he leaps at her.

He catches her easily, clipping her across her jaw with a punch that’s only half of what she knows he’s capable of. Carol doesn't know what's more infuriating: that he still holds back with her, or that sometimes she's grateful for it.

She snatches his wrist before he can pull back, twists his arm violently to what she thinks could be the breaking point, but he grits his teeth and knocks her legs out from underneath her before she can get the leverage she wants.

She pushes up from the mat as fast as she can, already out of breath, vision swimming with spots from the force of her fall. She goes for him with all the ferocity she can muster, wanting him to know he didn’t shake her, wanting him to know he couldn’t _ possibly _. He blocks her kick this time, but she hadn’t meant for it to land; she aims for his face while he’s still catching hold of her leg and slams into his cheekbone so hard she thinks she’ll leave a bigger bruise on her knuckles than him. 

Yon-Rogg grunts, and that’s satisfying, that’s—that’s _ nothing, _ actually, because before she can wind up again, he ducks under her arm and hefts her and she’s _ flying _, airborne for a moment before she skids across the mat and slows to a painful stop.

“You leave your left side open, Vers. Did you know that?”

“Thanks for the tip, Commander, that wasn’t sarcastic in the fucking slightest.”

“I never jest,” he says. He’s waiting for her when she gets up, bouncing on the balls of his feet like they’ve only just begun. 

“Yeah, I _ know _ ,” Carol huffs. She approaches him again, muscles tensing in preparation. “That’s why it’s so _ boring _around here.”

“Oh, you’re _ bored _, are you?”

Punch aimed at his throat and he blocks it with a forearm, skin slick with sweat where it touches hers, and then he’s slamming a fist at her ribs but she repositions and dodges it, tamps down the heat and the light from a photon blast that blooms in her palms—she can’t give him the satisfaction of losing control, she _ can’t _—and grabs his shoulder, brings his solar plexus down and into her knee in the kind of bar brawl move that she knows is a little bit dirty but doesn’t care. 

The Kree are measured when they fight; they’re violent and vicious and unrelenting, war machines, but they’re not messy like Carol is, Carol who fights with sledgehammer swings of her arms and legs, who bares her teeth like an animal and is heedless of things like _ technique _ or _ saving your energy _ . That’s her advantage, really: that she’s unpredictable, that she goes past wanting a victory and tilts into blood-thirsty sometimes, that she forgets she’s sparring and suddenly takes it _ very _personally. 

“Not bored, exactly,” she says, taking advantage of the fact that he’s still out of breath. 

He grabs her waist and shoves, starting to shift her center of gravity. _ Can’t have that _, she thinks, and smacks her fist on the back of his bared neck, that little lump of spine that’s ridged below tanned skin. He stumbles—that kind of blow is meant to stun, and it’s not really sporting of her—and she slams him to the ground, kicks his side like he’s and only remembers at the last second not to break his ribs, sending him sprawling. 

Yon-Rogg won’t let her see him falter, of course he won’t. He jack-knifes to his feet and grins at her, blue-green blood limning the outline of his teeth. Gruesome, and fuck, he’s handsome anyway. “Woken up a bit, have we?”

“Commander, you should know justice never sleeps,” Carol chirps, exhilarated, knowing she should be tired by now but wanting—always wanting, that’ll be her undoing—just a little bit more.

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Yon-Rogg says, and lunges at her. 

“And what would you know of wit?” Carol replies easily.

He snaps her head back with a blow to her chin—a shock of pain bright like flames that fizzles and dulls like smoldering coals—and catches her around the middle and hefts her, and she’s so fucking sick of him using her size against her. She blinks furiously, sweat running into her eyes, and jerks up, hooks a leg over his shoulder. If he wants to lift her up, she’ll make it work the way _ she _wants it to. Yon-Rogg looks briefly, immediately surprised, and then she gets her left thigh over his other shoulder and pulls him down with her legs, slamming them both to the mat.

It knocks the wind out of her, and probably out of him, too, from the way he gasps. But then he’s grabbing the outside of her thigh and shoving her off, yanking her so she slides down the mat. He has a forearm braced against her throat and his knees on either side of her hips before she knows what to do.

“Would you like to go again, Vers?”

The sight of him above her is electrifying; his eyes are clear and calculating in the dim light of the training room, blood trickling from a cut on his mouth, forehead hyaline with sweat, looking like something out of a war holovid, the conquering hero. Oh, she fucking hates him.

“I have a better idea,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Well, after all, Commander, there are other things to do when you can’t sleep.”

His mouth twists. “Is that so?”

“We can think of something,” Carol says, grinning ferociously at him.

“That’s a breach of protocol, as I'm sure you know.”

“And?”

Yon-Rogg’s cool, satisfied look at her is better than even the adrenaline that surges through her veins while they fight. It means she'll get what she wants, which is never guaranteed when they're sparring.

“Vers, you wouldn’t let me win on purpose, would you?”

“Oh, would I really do that just to get you in bed?”

He rolls off of her and offers her his hand. “You absolutely would.”

She ignores his outstretched palm, pushing herself upright on her own with trembling arms, biceps screaming. “Well,” Carol says, dragging her eyes over the gleaming expanse of his collarbone, up, up, up to his cat eyes that seem to glow in this light. “I mean, I'm sure I could have you somewhere other than a bed just as easily.”

Yon-Rogg clamps his mouth shut; there's a muscle that jumps in his jaw. She tries not to laugh.

“Wanna go upstairs?”

“Didn’t I say you'd have to ask me nicely if you want something?”

Carol’s not so much of an ass that she'll roll her eyes at him right now, but it's a near thing. She saunters closer to him, leans in and puts a hand on the shining skin that’s exposed by his tight training gear. “Commander,” she murmurs, and she doesn't have to _ hear _ the hitch in his breath; she can _ feel _it under her palm, can feel the way his heart thuds against his chest like it wants to beat its way out and into her hand. “Won’t you please take me back to your room?”

“All you ever have to do is ask, Vers,” he says quietly, his breath stirring the hair by her ear.

“Really?” Carol hums. “Can I take your fighter jet on—”

“_ Except _,” Yon-Rogg says, pulling back and heading for the door. “For that.”

“You said _ anything! _” she objects, chasing after him.

“You know exactly what I meant!”

“I was _ interpreting _,” says Carol, jogging behind him into the elevator. He raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re not very good at refusing me, anyway.”

Yon-Rogg shoots her a withering look and presses his thumb onto the print scanner. The elevator whirs to life. “You’re very irritating.”

Carol elbows him gently. “I’ve _ always _ been very irritating.”

“Can’t deny that.” 

If it wasn’t Yon-Rogg, she’d say his tone was something approximating fond.

They get off on his floor, and she follows him to his room, rocking on her heels, impatient while he unlocks it. He opens it, steps in, looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Commander?”

God, it’s so revealing how he lets her call him that, how his pupils dilate when she says it. She doesn’t mind it, not really. Maybe in hand-to-hand she can’t best him, but with her powers buzzing just under her skin, she’s always got the upper hand. Titles are meaningless; she has all the power, and they both know it, even if he pretends otherwise.

“Would you like to come in, Vers?” Yon-Rogg asks obediently.

“Oh, thank you,” Carol replies blithely. She steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind her. She’s never actually been inside his room, the sanctum sanctorum, but she’s not going to waste any time asking for a tour. “Come here.”

He steps into her space, so close she can feel the heat of his skin against hers, can smell him: the clean scent of his laundry soap, the mint of his toothpaste, a current of still-cooling sweat running beneath it all. She grabs his shoulders and spins them, slamming him against the door hard enough that she hears it shudder beneath him.

“Still have some energy left?”

“You have no idea,” Carol says softly, dipping her head to let her breath ghost over his mouth.

He looks at her; he won’t ask her to kiss him. She won’t give it to him till he does. She puts her thumb on his lower lip, presses down till he lets his mouth drop open. 

“You look,” she says. “Very nice like that.”

He drags his tongue over the pad of her thumb; she feels abruptly ravenous. 

“Commander,” says Carol. “Ask me to come to bed.”

“Vers,” says Yon-Rogg. “Would you like to come to bed?”

“God, yeah,” she breathes. She pulls her thumb back and kisses him instead. He kisses back like he’s as hungry as she feels, rough and messy, as much of a brawl as their fight was earlier. He nips her lower lip and she muffles a moan and licks along the seam of his mouth and he—_ fuck _—shoves his knee between her thighs and half lifts her onto him.

Carol puts her hand on the nape of his neck, twining her fingers into the hair there, damp and curling from sweat. She rocks unsteadily against him, grinding down into his leg. He’s smirking against her mouth, fuck him, the raging asshole. 

“We’re a little far from bed,” he hums.

“Let’s do something about that,” Carol pants.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Yon-Rogg hitches her legs around his waist and starts carrying her. You’d think she was a bag of feathers, not a nearly six foot tall superhero.

“You are such a caveman,” she mutters, but it’s so hot that it takes her breath away.

“Actually, I think you’ll find that I’m an extremely advanced life form,” he says. He drops her with a little bounce onto his mattress.

Carol sits up on her elbows and thumbs the strap of her belt. “Why don’t you show me how advanced you are?”

“Remember how I told you there’s a time and a place for humor?”

“Remember how I got sick of you telling me things?”

There’s a long moment of silence—not awkward, just loaded—and then he relents. “What would you like, Vers?”

“Take your shirt off,” Carol suggests, because she's a simple woman with simple wants.

Yon-Rogg grins at her as he strips his gear off, black fabric giving way to golden skin and the muscles of his abdomen and that long scar up his left side she remembers giving him stitches in the field for. (There’s really no need for him to keep that scar. The Kree physicians could have stem-celled it into oblivion or something, she _ knows _it, but he leaves it, and it’s worse because the imperfection makes him even more attractive.)

“Don’t look at me all smug like that,” she grumbles. “If I didn't want you, I wouldn't be laying in your bed right now. You haven't discovered anything new.”

“Say you want me again,” says Yon-Rogg, smug and amused and hiding a real edge of desire.

“Shut up,” Carol says, and when he raises an eyebrow: “I _ do _want you, alright, fucking hell.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” he says, low, nearly a purr. He sounds like the Devil tempting Eve in Eden.

God, he's such a fucking asshole. She really has to watch him, because he's always trying to turn the tables on her when she isn’t looking.

“Kiss me again,” she says. “You’re not in fucking charge.”

Obediently, he kneels down and does just that, bracketing her in with biceps and strong thighs, pressing her inexorably back into the mattress. He’s so _ hot _ —well, metaphorically too, she guesses, but temperature wise, really. The Kree run far warmer than 98.6, especially after a sparring session like the one they just had. He’s like a furnace. She’s burning up everywhere he touches her, although maybe some of that is less because he’s hot and more because he’s Yon fucking Rogg, who’s always pretending like he’s immune to her jokes and her smiles and how she can keep him pinned down if she tries really hard. (Apparently, he is _ not _ immune.)

He ducks his head to kiss her neck, moving her hair away. “You smell very human,” he says, his lips against her pulse point. “Right here.”

“That is_ — _ gross, Yon-Rogg, don't tell me I _ smell _.”

“It’s intoxicating,” he says helpfully, and bites down. Carol keens, arching into his mouth as he sucks a bruise into her neck.

“Oh, well, if it's _ intoxicating _ ,” she mumbles, hanging onto his shoulders. “God, _ yeah— _”

He moves further down, kisses the hollow of her throat, the plane of her sternum where her chest heaves and she can't quite catch her breath. 

“Shirt off?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Carol agrees. He tugs at the hem and helps her drag it over her head. He throws it off the bed idly and leans back down towards her. “You know, you could be a tiny bit more careful with my possessions, Commander. You act like my shirt is personally offensive to you.”

“All your clothes _ are _ personally offensive to me,” Yon-Rogg says. “Bra off?”

“What, are you gonna throw that one, too?”

“Yes,” Yon-Rogg says seriously, but he’s smiling in spite of himself. 

Carol nudges him off and sits up. Obligingly, she peels off her sports bra, and gives her belt and pants the same treatment. Yon-Rogg edges them all off the bed and onto the floor with a clatter, smirking at her when she laughs.

“And what next, Vers?”

“Deference is a good look on you, chief,” Carol says, scooting back onto his pillows.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Carol grins. (She’s going to get used to it.) “Come here.”

He crawls—_ crawls _ , oh, _ fuck— _up the mattress to reach her and eases himself down over her, kisses in between her breasts and— 

_ Licks _her, fuck, and he’s moving down again all too soon, lips grazing across the tensed muscles of her stomach. He bites at her hip bone, makes her yelp at the sting. Idly, he plucks at the elastic band of her underwear—red, very plain cotton. It was just that she hadn’t expected this when she got dressed, really. 

“Is this alright?” Yon-Rogg asks her, quiet and reverent. It makes her feel warm all over, the fact that he knows she could throw him through the plate glass window of his bedroom if she felt uncomfortable, but he asks anyway.

“Yeah, fuck, hey,” she says, and pushes herself up on her elbows. She puts a hand in his hair, tilting his head back so he can’t help but look up at her, his golden eyes glinting. His gaze on her has a physical weight to it. “I want you, I want you to—I want your mouth, Commander, call it an order if you like.”

Sometimes when he gets that look in his eye, she wonders how wise it is to throw her lot in with someone who looks at her like he’s a wolf and she’s his dinner. (Not wise, but _ fun_.)

“Is that so?” he murmurs. Carefully, he slides fully between her legs, nudging her knees apart. He’s solid beneath her, not so different from when she’d brought him down with her legs in the training room. 

(Could it be possible that they’d only been fighting an hour ago? It feels like they’ve been in his room for an eternity.)

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and tugs it down, so slow it’s actually a little bit torturous. “Red is very much your color, Vers.”

“You are so full of shit,” Carol says eloquently, feeling like she’s about to shake out of her fucking skin.

Yon-Rogg presses his lips to her inner thigh in an open-mouthed kiss, his breath hot and heady against the thin skin. Carol hisses through her teeth and immediately regrets it, because his ego is going to be _ insufferable _ . He drags his mouth up slow, slow, slow, _ fuck, _ so slow she could actually kill him. What she wants from him is rough, quick, him rising up to meet her strength like she _ knows _he fucking can.

Absently, she lets her hand drift back down to his hair. She tugs a little, and Yon-Rogg makes a muffled noise against her skin. _ Ha _. Panting already when she's barely touched him. He thumbs her clit, lazy, easy, and she shudders. She can’t see his face, but she knows he’s smirking again.

He opens his mouth and tongues at her, licks up to her clit and back down again, makes her shake and she wants to groan but she won’t give him the satisfaction. Of course he gets it, pushes himself up to look at her and says, “Vers—”

“Who told you to stop?” Carol asks, and it’s the entitlement in her voice that makes his eyes darken, she thinks.

“I can’t,” Yon-Rogg says, hitching her thigh up and over his shoulder, so he’s holding onto her. “Hear you.”

“You’d better try harder then, hmm?” she says evenly.

_ That’s _what she wanted from him, the way his mouth curls and his jaw sets, like before he blocks a punch from her and throws her on the mat. Steel meeting steel and finding unfamiliar resistance.

He pulls her closer, buries his face in between her legs, and she feels her ankle twitch of its own volition, her heel banging against his back. She bucks her hips up; Yon-Rogg puts his forearm low across her stomach so she can’t fucking _move_, can’t rock up into him or slide away, can only lie there and take it. She should probably say something smart like _who’s in charge_ _here _except he’s using his free hand to slide a finger into her and she’s suddenly forgotten how to speak.

He puts the calloused edge of his thumb against her clit again, and his finger’s still working inside of her, and then his mouth—

She doesn’t want to but she feels the moan get dragged out of her like a body hauled over gravel in pitch black midnight, illicit and wrecked. “Fuck,” she says. “_ Fuck _.”

Yon-Rogg rocks up and says, “_ Vers _ ,” intense and _ worshipful _ , and then he’s slipping another finger into her and she’s trying to bear down, she’s _ trying _to grind against him but he’s pressing her into the mattress and she finds it too hot to bother to buck him off. She digs his fingers into his hair, gasping, her thighs flexing as one heel pushes into the mattress for purchase and the other thuds against Yon-Rogg’s back again. 

It’s—it’s unbearable, actually, knowing that the asshole who spends all his free time yelling about _ control _ and _ please Vers can you stop blowing holes in the mess hall tables every time you get distracted _ is right _ here _. It seems unreal and unbelievable that he’s between her legs, that his mouth is on her clit, that he’s letting her tug his head around by his stupid hair. 

Carol means to say: “Make me come now before I kill you.” What she actually says is: “Fuck, shit, fuck,” and arches her hips, _ finally, _ into Yon-Rogg’s mouth, his arm slipping off her stomach. Perhaps she gets the meaning across anyway.

He crooks his fingers inside her and he’s sucking on her clit and that’s kind of _ it _for Carol, thanks very much, because maybe she’s half-Kree but she still feels—at least right now—very human.

He licks at her until she shoves him off, oversensitive, chest heaving, fingers cramped from pulling his hair so hard. She’s glowing, pink all over and red where Yon-Rogg gripped her skin too tight and gold in her hair and her eyes, like a mosaic laid out in jeweled tesserae. There's something wet on her thigh—warm, blue-green, and she realizes Yon-Rogg must've reopened his split lip and left a streak of blood across her skin. It's too much to think about.

When she gets her breath back, she says, mimicking him earlier in the training room, “You weren’t going easy on me, were you, Commander?” 

“What,” Yon-Rogg says, resting his chin on her hip. His mouth is still wet. “To get you in bed, Vers? I’d never.”

“You fucking would,” Carol huffs. “Wanna go again?”

“I’m so glad I never told you how to requisition a sleeping tab,” Yon-Rogg says, his mouth curling in a shark’s smile.

She isn’t going to tell him that she knows _ damn _well how to get a sleeping tab on her own, but— 

Isn’t this better, anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it! i'm on twitter @vcikyrie and tumblr @irltrash, i have one brain cell, and i'm very fond of you if you made it this far. kudos and comments feed me.


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